Castle of Sand
by Daisy Sparrow
Summary: SLASH, sequel to 'upon a painted ocean'. chapter 2's up!
1. prologue

**Title:** Castle of Sand - Prologue 

**Author**: Daisy Sparrow 

**Rating:** PG-13 

**Disclaimer**: If Pirates of the Caribbean was mine, do you think I would actually share. However, the OCs are all mine. 

Also my thanks to Willow Whiteamber for the betaing. ^__^ And sorry Alicia that I didn't wait any longer, but I wanted to get a feel of how people would response to this story, if it's not too much trouble, I'd still like your input though. 

**Warning:** **SLASH! The main pairing is Jack/Will, but the prologue is pretty safe. Don't like it, don't read it!** And English is not my first language, and I also like to insert random flashbacks and dream sequences. 

**A/N:** The long awaited sequel.... or not! Anyway, if you haven't read Upon A Painted Ocean, this would probably make no sense. And hopefully you all know who Lan is, but in case you don't, I mentioned her in chapter 23 of UAPO. The prologue took place on that fateful day on Isle de Aves, about 25 years before the movie. 

Sorry about the lame title, but it's actually the first one that popped into my head (and since I've tried to think of a better one for WEEKS to no avail. Hmmm....wondered why I posted this story so late @_@) Anyway, it also has something to do with one of the very last scenes of the story (yeah, I pretty much planned out the entire story), and.... I am not gonna spoil it now. ^^ 

" speech " 

// thoughts // 

*** flashback/memory *** 

___________________________________________________________________________________________ 

The first one missed and barely grazed pass her cheek. She swirled around just as the second shot penetrated her shoulder. Pain exploded and a torrent of burning bored straight through the path craved by the steely intruder. The bullet exited through her back, underneath one shoulder blade and bringing with it a bursting of blood. 

She stumbled back, one hand instinctively went for the wound, clumsily covering the hole in an attempt to stop the incessant flow. 

The fire around her roared and licked her dress seductively. Darkness beckoned her with its soft serenade, and stubbornly she held onto the edge of consciousness. Moonlight spilled through the cracks between the boards, blending with the heat of the white flare, and as one they scorched her hands. 

She reached out with desperation, pushing and clawing as sliver of skin, chips of wood and ashes joined the streams of blood and tear, until finally the door swung open with a hard thud. 

The cold ocean breeze greeted her shivering form, and the impassive night bared witness to the unfolding event with all its starless glory. 

She dashed outside, tripped and fell into the garden. The thorns of the roses dug into her skin, scratching savagely, imprinting their angry marks on her. She pushed and fought against the entanglement of limbs, veins and fabric until she was on her feet again. The initial staggering was soon overtaken by the rushing of dread and she ran, leaving a trail of distorted sand and bloodied footprints behind. 

//How had it come to this?// 

She knew the answer, yet its presence offered no shelter against the gathering storm within. She had foreseen it, first through the emptied eyes of the stranger, and then on the eager and hopeful face of her young charge. 

//Oh, Jack, do you see now? Do you see what your kindness has brought us?// 

But Jack was not to be blamed. His innocence and kindness shone with an almost blinding light, and her judgment was swayed so easily by its brilliance. The premise of this disaster was her own uncertainty, her own foolish hope that perhaps, for once, she was wrong. 

//I should have insisted. I should have hold Jack back and let him die.// 

The gift of foresight was wasted on her. She was a failure of a Seer, who ignored the warning inside her visions. This was irony at its finest, an poetic irony that spat in her as the one and only time she chose to defy its lady's designs. Its lady, the fate, whose dark agents are tyrannous and vengeful. They were laughing now, laughing cruelly at her despair. 

The blustery waves of the sea clasps one another, in pace with her pounding heart and soundly agreeing to this silent agony. She wanted to weep dry of this myriad of emotions, her inner howling against this injustice, the meager but budding vindication against everything and everyone. 

She continued to run. 

~~~*~~~ 

The wind slashed against her face, its merciless whips hampered her already faltering pace. The border of the beach was approaching and the stretching of trees spread before her like an endless shadow. She struggled through the last couple of steps before half dragged herself into the forest. Feverishly, she wished that the dense, pathless wood would conceal her track and at the very least delay her pursuer. 

Branches and leaves obscured her way, and she brushed them aside hurriedly and carelessly. She emerged through the underbrush to a small plain of meadow, decorated by wildflowers. 

"Lan?" 

Her heart skipped, startled by the small noise. She turned and immediately saw the black-hair boy, who was standing up from his crouching position beneath the bushes. 

Relief filled the cavity in her chest that was drilled by worry. The last drop of adrenaline fled her as quickly as it first arrival. With one hand clutching her injured shoulder, she slowly sank her knees into the thick carpet of grass. The boy gasped sharply before rushed to her side. 

"Lan! You are hurt!" 

She brushed his cheek with shaky fingers, gladdened by his presence and the temporary absence of danger. With great effort, she tried to quite down her harsh panting and smiled despite of the pain that laced through every twitch of muscle. 

"Jack, you are safe. Where are the others?" 

"In the caves. I told them to hide there." 

She sighed. The children were unharmed. Their well beings were foremost on her mind. 

"That's good. Jack, you know where the boat is." 

Jack nodded tentatively, as if sensing her next request. Those guileless black eyes pinned her to the spot, fiercely piercing while at the same time, slowly being clogged by an luminous mist. 

"It should be big enough for all of you. Take the others and go to the boat." 

".....are you not coming with us?" 

Strangely bright, pain-filled, sorrowful eyes, eyes that should have never belonged on the face of a child. Were those the beginning of tears? Oh, please, to whatever power that may be, let those be trickery played by the moonlight. 

//I am so sorry.// 

It wasn't fair to burden this boy with such responsibility, but she couldn't go with them. She couldn't stop the bleeding. Her body was weakening with each progressive seconds and her senses blurred as if in a state of inebriation. 

//I am dying.// 

She was going to die, on this island. But before she would submit to her inevitable demise, she would provide enough distraction in order for the children to escape. It was the last thing she would do as their caretaker. 

She ruffled his hair as she always liked to do, "I am sorry, Jack. But you have to take care of them now." 

"No! I don't want to lea--" 

"You must! You are the eldest and I know I can count on you." 

It was a sneaky practice of emotional blackmailing, but it would be enough to persuade Jack. The situation was pressuring and the impending threat drew closer with each moments they wasted arguing. 

"I can count on you, can't I, Jack?" 

".....yes, Lan." 

Jack's reply was almost a whisper. He scrubbed his face furiously with the back of his hand and refused to meet her eyes. She swallowed pass the knot at her throat, tilted her head to plant a feathery kiss on his forehead. 

"One day, you will forget the pain and smile again." 

A hiccup. "No, I won't" 

"Yes, you will." She coaxed gently, "but don't change, Jack. Don't ever change." 

Jack raised his face finally. "It's too late, Lan. I am losing my light.....I no longer have a choice. I must change or lose myself." 

"You will reclaim it again, your light. You will find it, or it will find you." 

"But why must I lose it now?!" He shouted through strangled gasping. 

She had no answer. 

He continued, sniffing here and there. "I thought..... I thought it was the right thing to do. Why....why would..." 

Why? The reasons were irrelevant now. The road to hell was paved by good intentions. 

The flapping wings of the birds, along with the snapping of broken branches announced the presence of another. She was instantly alerted, and shoved Jack away weakly. 

"He's coming. Go now." 

"But Lan--" 

"GO!" 

She had wanted to say something else, a proper good-bye maybe, but she couldn't trust her voice not to betray her turmoil. Jack looked at her hard one last time before sprinted to his feet and ran. Soon he disappeared among the silhouettes of the trees. For a few seconds, she allowed herself to collapsed onto her elbows and buried her face into the damp grass. 

The temporary comfort was short lived. As the sounds came closer, she roused herself on shaky legs and staggered toward the other direction. 

~~~*~~~ 

"Where is he?" 

She stood motionlessly, stared down at the barrel of pistol aiming at her, before directed her gaze to her attacker. A youthful face, no older than twenty, framed by waves of auburn hair, untamed and appeared almost jet black in the dark. Green eyes, clear but reflected nothing, was glaring at her hatefully. 

//Such emptiness. Are you so desperate for a purpose, a goal in life? Or was it a second chance you seek?// 

The young man asked again. "Where is he?" 

"Love can not be forced. If it didn't belong to you, no matter what you do, it will never be yours." 

Was she right? Was love the root of it all? And why was she pondering the reasons behind it now? 

This slaughtering. So senseless. 

But if she could find some sort of motivation, however unjustified, the young man before her could be.... perhaps..... redeemed? 

The man pressed on, and she took another step back. Then sucked in a breath as her left foot almost slipped. A few rocks tumbled and rolled off the cliff. She cast a quick glance behind her and contemplated bitterly. To die here, exposed to the wild or to join their ranks at the bottom of the ocean. 

"I will find him." 

Yes. She knew that he would. 

Her head titled back, one hand raised above her face. The skin on the back of her hand was almost ghastly pale, contrasted sharply against the bleakness of the night sky. 

Black and white. 

***Sadness will be always be balanced by happiness. They all have their places in our lives, just like we have our own places in the world.*** 

That was what she told Jack, and she would very much like to believe it now. She breathed deeply and relaxed her body. With arms out stretched, she allowed the gravity to pull her down. The man shouted, rushed to the edge of the cliff. But she was already falling. She shut her eyes, images flashed behind closed eye lids like jolts of lightening. 

_A ship. _

_Black sails._

_Betrayal._

_Loneliness._

_A clashing of steel._

_Revenge._

_Sea._

_Warmth._

_Laughter._

_Kisses. _

_'Do you want happiness?'_

_Hope._

_Ruby eyes, angry, but sad. _

_'I will give you a choice.'_

_Pain. _

A moment of perfect clarity bestowed her just as the first rock connected with her back. The coldness tore into her body and the water engulfed her in its icy embrace. 

~~~*~~~ 

She couldn't remember anything. 

There were voids inside of her body and holes clustered in her memory. She wrapped her arms around herself and the bed sheets curled around her nude form like rippling waves. 

Snowy white sheets, the same color as her skin. 

A pair of arms held her shoulders gently. She squirmed slightly. A deep and smooth voice whispered softly above her head. She raised her face. A young man smiled down at her. She gasped, angelic was the only word she could use to describe him. 

A boy stepped from behind the young man, his gaze locked with hers, "do you remember anything?" 

She shook her head, edged away from the boy and hugged her knees to her chest. Silvery blue eyes narrowed suspiciously. Those eyes were cold and almost.... ageless. They cut through her like daggers. She reeled back suddenly and buried her face into the fountain of blankets and pillows. They were talking now, the man and the boy, but she refused to look at neither of them. 

"This was a very bad idea, young master." The tone was patient, but loaded with a heavy sense of nostalgia. 

"So you like to say, about everything I do." The boy's voice was higher, but hard with some unnamed emotion. "Ray.... make the necessary arrangements and preparations. I would like to leave for England as soon as possible." 

"Very well, young master, but what shall I do about her?" 

"We are taking her with us, of course." 

".....as you wish." 

A door opened, then was shut quietly. 

A hand ran through her hair, gripped the back of her head, and forced it to tip up and backward. She met the boy's emotionless eyes once again. He was inspecting her face carefully, and grinned faintly, yet almost dreamily. 

"You are going to be staying with me now." 

He smiled again and she shivered. 

__________________________________________________________________________________________ 

Thanks for reading. Let me know what you think. 

^_^ 


	2. chapter 1

Castle of Sand - 1 

All previous disclaimers and warnings still applied. 

Again special thanks to Willow for the betaing. THANX! ^^ 

And I absolutely love all the wonderful reviews last time. Thank you so much. *bow* I'll do my best and try not to disappoint you all. 

**A/N:** This chapter took place two months after 'upon a painted ocean' and in two different locations: Curacao (where the Black Pearl is) and Port Royal. There will be two separate plots in the beginning, but they will eventually cross and become one. I just want to minimize the confusion. 

I've done some research on the Caribbean, privacy and all that, and I've tried to keep it as close to the actual history as possible. But I am no expert (acutally I hate history) and this story is pretty much one giant, massive AU, so if I got the facts wrong, you are more than welcome to correct me. 

____________________________________________________________________________________________ 

Will sighed as his captain ran a callused palm across the smooth metal. 

It was getting ridiculous even for someone like Will, who had grown quite accustom to the crazy tactics of his companion, and who had a relatively high tolerance when it came to the general weirdness of the world. However, their current predicament was treading dangerously close to the border between sanity and madness. 

"Jack," he began exasperatedly, "it's a coffin." 

"Of course it's a coffin, Will." Jack answered, eyes twinkled with amusement. "But it's a coffin made of gold." 

Trust Jack Sparrow to pierce the heart of matter with such simplicity. 

He sighed again and Jack continued to caress the shiny surface with almost lover-like gentleness. Will scowled, resisting the urge to kick the offending casket in a fit of jealousy rage.... and then to kick himself because he did NOT just think that. 

He tried again, "it's a coffin with the body most likely still inside of it." 

"....I see. You want me to throw away the body first?" 

"NO! No.... Ack!" Will was beginning to develop a serious grudge against the universe. "It's not.... not about.... do you have no respect for the dead?" 

"They are dead." 

Was that supposed to make sense in some sort of warped Jack logic? Will was a fairly open-minded person even though he liked to keep some healthy amount of skepticism regardless of the situation. But this..... this was not about one's individual belief. This was a matter of showing the proper courtesy to those that deserved such. A matter of human decency! 

That and the piece of parchment stamped on the side of the coffin, which was clearly labeled in big, red, capital letters: 'CURSED. DO NOT OPEN.' 

Hadn't they burnt their hands enough times when it came to the supernatural? Especially seeing as how the supernatural was what cased their current problem in the first place. 

After they escaped from Isle de Aves, they had sailed to Tortuga for some post-crisis regrouping. Instead of rum and agreeable company, they were met with hostility and triple-priced merchandises. The residents of Tortuga had taken a great dislike to the Black Pearl due to a little incident involving a certain pyromaniac cook. It was an understandable act of retribution since Zeke, while disguised as the infamous captain of the equally infamous Black Pearl, did start a fire which managed to waste half the town. So for the time being, they had little choice but to seek alternative sources for trading and relaxation, and that brought them to Curacao. 

Curacao had a beautifully natural harbor, and according to Jack, it was also the hive for the smugglers and the home to the largest black market in the New World. Never mind the charming little port was located on the other side of the Caribbean, it was far away from Tortuga, from Port Royal, from Elizabeth and from everything that Will was trying to cast behind. 

It started out all right at the beginning. The town's authority had a generously tolerated attitude towards piracy, and everything in Curacao was open for bargaining. After they restocked, the crew went on land for some well deserved rest. While the others were spending their hard earned money in taverns and brothels, he and Jack had volunteered to guard the Pearl, alone.... as in just the two of them. It was such a rarity after being stuck with fifty other people on the same ship for months. They had the Pearl all to themselves; they could stay in their cabin all day, or walk around the deck naked, or.... the possibilities were endless. 

But as fate would have it, their quality time was interrupted by the ill-timed arrival of a message. His captain was fully ready to toss the letter, along with the messager boy, over the side until Will curiously pointed out the tiny, strange looking mark in the corner of the envelope, an action which he thoroughly regretted. 

The mark was dominated by the round curves of an opened eye, one small, triangular line branched out on the left, and another one, longer, to the right, trailed down perpendicular to the eye and ended with a lightening shaped tail. 

Jack had frozen upon seeing it, and then he had torn it open with almost brutal force. Will was perplexed as Jack scanned the content of the letter frantically before savagely threw it to the fire place. The fire had flared with a little explosion, danced with an eerily purple light before the paper was completely consumed. Will was worried, but the more he pressed for answers, the more silent Jack became, until this morning. 

Jack had waken him before the crack of dawn and declared that they were going for a little stroll around the town. The little stroll led them to a half rundown warehouse, which he was quite certain was Jack's intended destination. After a few well placed punches here and there, they took care of the guards and let themselves in. 

The house was full of treasures. 

There were stacks of chests, filled with gold, silver, and gems in all shapes and sizes. Its worth probably rivaled those in the cave of Isle de Muerta. Will had gawked at their discovery while Jack explained that they had found the headquarter of a band of smugglers. Then the pirate captain had proceeded to snuffle through the content of the room in search of something. 

The coffin. 

A gold coffin, decorated with sparkling and exotic jewels. It wasn't made in any conventional European style, or in any style that Will recognized. Its bottom was curved like a flower petal, while the top half looked almost like a statue, it was in the form of a human. The craftsmanship was unbelievably detailed, and the face on the lid was almost life like. Vaguely, Will realized that it must had been the face of the deceased. How.... interesting it was to carve one's face into the casket of one's eternal rest. 

Interesting and very creepy. 

Will rubbed his eyes tiredly, his head was beginning to hurt. 

"You are being paranoid." Jack commented, eyes followed his to the parchment. 

"I am being cautious, thanks to all my prior experiences, or have you forgotten them already? It's better to be safe than sorry. The warnings might be real and that... that thing could very dangerous!" 

"It's not." 

"How would you know?" 

"I just do. It's hard to explain. It's like.... an intuition, a gut feeling." 

"Wonderful. Just wonderful." Will rolled his eyes, sarcasm dripping from every word. 

"Relax, luv. You know I wouldn't let anything happen to you." 

"Well, I--" 

His retort was cut abruptly by the sudden appearance of Jack's face a few inches in front of his. Their noses were almost touching and black eyes peered at him under lowered lashes. How had Jack managed to sneak up so close to him unnoticed.... again?! 

"You trust me, don't you?" Jack purred beside his ear, "I would never let anything happen to you." 

The voice was seductive, but their meanings rang true. Will's heart clenched at their intensity and conviction. 

Jack continued, ".....and as for this situation, I am sure we can come to..... some kind of agreement." 

A finger tip skated across his cheek before that hand cycled behind him. Strong arms half embraced his body in their engrossing cage, touching yet not touching. The knuckles of one hand scratched a path from the base of his neck to the small of his back, feathery light yet scorching his skin through the layer of thin fabric. 

He shivered, swallowed hard, and not so subtly edged away. Jack frowned half-heartedly, then narrowed his eyes before advancing and matching Will's backward pace. Something hard soon hit the back of his legs and halted his retreat. Jack leaned closer, nudged Will's legs apart a little until he was pressing fully between them. 

Damnit. This was no honorable negotiation; it couldn't even be count as eloquence. This was bribery! 

A light tug on his waist, and he found himself shoved on top of some solid surface. Jack's head dipped down further, that bow-shaped mouth hitched up into a smirk, and hovered directly above Will's. Their breath mingled and unconsciously Will's tongue darted out slowly to wet his suddenly dry lips. He looked up at Jack shyly, senses overwhelmed, and heart enthralled by that hypnotic gaze. Then Jack turned his head, gently bit Will's jaw, and nursed the small bruise with his tongue. Will jumped, breathing sped up, flailed his arms around, nervous and somewhat panicked, until they were caught and locked behind his back 

Now that was just plain unfair! 

Gathered up what was left of his grip, he slurred out groggily, "you are.... you are not kissing me, not on top of a coffin." 

"You don't like the scenery? A change of location then, that can be arranged." Jack moved off of him slightly, and supporting himself on both elbows, "but first, we need to find some means of transportation." 

"What?" His brain was not the one doing the thinking, and was showing no sign of resuming its duty any time soon. 

"The coffin, luv." Jack reminded him, "We are taking it to the Pearl." 

"WHAT!" Will yelled, sat up in a flash, subsequently pushed and dumped Jack onto the floor. 

Jack winced, pouting unhappily at him. He offered a weak little smile in apology, and reached out a hand to help the other up. 

"Can't... can't you take something else?" He reasoned in a calmer voice, then gestured his hands around them, "I mean.... look at all the other.... gold!" 

"This is important. I'll explain it later. .....although..... I image the smugglers are not going to be happy with the disappearance of their precious cargo." 

"Stealing from thieves. It would certainly be novel, wouldn't it?" 

Will's eyes widened. Did he just say that? He did. Damn. Jack was such a bad influence. It would seem that his sensible reasoning had decided to embark on a vacation while taking his common sense along for the ride. He could only hope it was not permanent. 

Jack grinned, then slapped him on the back. "You are finally learning. That's my boy!" 

Will's shoulders slumped, sighed for the hundredth time that day, and resigned himself once again to Jack's eccentricity. 

~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~ 

Norrington dismissed the soldier at the door before entering. The cells were empty except for one lone prisoner, who was propped half against the wall and snoring quietly. 

It had been almost two months since they returned to Port Royal and the redhead had squandered away each day by sleeping. Although every time he came to check on the pirate, the boy would wake up, make some sarcastic comments before close his eyes and proceed to studiously ignore him. So far, no escape had been attempted. It was almost as if the redhead was waiting for something. 

He had considered the situation carefully, and secretly admitted that the lack of reaction unnerved him. Shouldn't the pirate be frightened or at the very least show some signs of concern or self-preservation. Or perhaps the boy was confident that his comrades would come and rescue him. Unlikely, since no sighting of the Black Pearl had been reported. 

He had devoted most of the navy resources to the reconstruction of Port Royal. As a result, the patrolling of the surrounding water and the defense of the fort had been slack of late. Fortunately or unfortunately, Port Royal was still something of a taboo among the seamen. Only a few merchant vessels had dared to treaded near the bay. 

He walked closer until his body almost touched the steel bars. His boots pattered loudly against the stone floor, yet the boy remained in slumber. The sound of hammer pounding against nails could be heard from outside. Each metallic clapping echoed through the air and attuned to his heartbeat. He rested his forehead against the bars, the coolness of the steel sank into his troubled mind. 

He realized soon after they returned to shore, that his life had adopted a new routine. He would go to bed every night, pretend to sleep, get up the next morning, supervise the rebuilding, flounder through the paper works, eat as little as he could get away with, go back to bed, and start the whole cycle again the following day. And no matter how distorted and tedious his schedule got, he always managed to fit in one or two visits to the dungeon. 

Just.... just to make sure that Ezekiel was still there. 

Dear God! Could he be any more obsessed? For the life of him, he could not figure out why the pirate's presence evoked such ineffable feelings in him. It was like a slow burn, nagging in the back of his mind, filed away but never forgotten. 

//I am going mad.// 

There weren't enough adjectives to describe the intricate weaving that is his current state of mind. The few hours of sleep that he got each night, were constantly plagued by nightmares. Or at least he assumed them to be nightmares. He would wake up to sheet soaked with sweat, but could never recall any details other than the overwhelming sense of lost, regret and heartache. 

The lack of proper nutrition and rest were beginning to take their tows, and many others have noticed his vertigo and roving concentration. As a result, Gillette and Groves had both given new meanings to the word 'meddlesome'. They had taken upon themselves to accompany him during meal times and even went as far as ordering him to bed. 

He was not pleased with the new arrangement, but inwardly admitted that their interference was mostly justified, since his performances and judgments have been seriously effected by his mood swings. It also brought an unexpected warmth, he was glad that there were people who really cared. 

"Where are your lapdogs?" 

He jumped at the sudden sound. Grey eyes blinked sheepishly before Ezekiel yawned and stretched out his legs lazily. Silently Norrington rebuked himself for not paying attention. 

"They both have some errands to run..... and kindly refrain from insulting my subordinates." 

As much as he disapproved of the fleering nickname, he couldn't help but sigh at the somewhat suitable denomination. Nowadays he simply couldn't go anywhere without at least one of his lieutenants tagging behind him faithfully. 

Ezekiel shrugged, and pulled at the irons around his wrists. The chains were long enough to allow free movement within the cell, but the other ends were fixed firmly to the wall. The boy looked annoyed before leaned back and draped on arm over a bent knee. Norrington knew that the extra confinement was a bit overboard, but one could never be too cautious. Ezekiel was one of Jack Sparrow's crew, and who knows what tricks he had picked up from the devious pirate captain. 

Their gazes interlocked, and his back straightened, determined not to look away first. He wasn't a man to be easily perturbed, but the boy's grey eyes have bewildered him from the first time they met. They were a most uncommon color, unnatural, inanimate, like glasses shards, clear and transient, but also fake and lifeless at the same time. 

Ezekiel spoke first. "You are not here to just stare at me all day, are you?" 

He grinned slightly at the small victory, and immediately chided himself for the slip. The boy's brows arched, somewhat amused. His smile turned to a scowl, and in return, Ezekiel cracked out a toothy smirk. 

//Blasted, cheeky little... I'll--// 

He caught himself before he could finish that thought, paused for a moment to compose himself, and then said curtly, "I am here to inform you of your trial." 

"Finally got around to that one? And here I am beginning to doubt my importance." 

"Do so. You are, by no mean, important." 

Ezekiel tried, unsuccessfully, to squeeze out a wounded frown. "Never let it be said that you are a man of tact, commodore." 

"I show the same amount of tact as I was given." 

"Yes, yes, we've already established the fact that I am a uneducated brute. Can we get on with it?" 

The boy waved his hand with a dismissive air. He sighed inwardly. Half the time he wanted to just hang the redhead and be done with it. The other half was usually spent questioning himself why he hadn't done the aforementioned hanging. 

By law, the trailing of pirates was open to the common masses, and history had proven that public execution was generally good for morality boosting. Then, as he had asked himself over and over, why had the repairing of the port square, or more specifically, the gallows ended up on the bottom of the priority list. Granted, there were other, far more urgent things to consider than bothering with a mere pirate, but that did not quench the uneasiness elicited by the fact that he was infinitely relieved by the delay. He was having little success at deciding one course of action or another, and Ezekiel's fate was out of his hands now. 

"The new governor arrives this afternoon, he will be conducting your trial. Tomorrow or the day after that, as soon as he settles in and reviews your case." 

They both knew that the trail was nothing more than a facade and would be followed immediately by execution. Such was the immutable punishment of piracy. For a split second, he had the unpleasant flashbacks of the skeletons dangling by the cliff. It was what they used to warn off pirates. He couldn't picture the redhead among their ranks. The image was sickening and just felt.... wrong. 

Norrington suppressed down the shiver. He couldn't understand what had brought up that moral dilemma. And..... did Ezekiel even care? 

//He's probably as crazy as Jack Sparrow, if not more so.// 

The redhead yawned again and he glared, trying to channel as much enmity into his gaze as possible. He had the sudden urge to smack the boy over the head, and perhaps that would knock some sense into that thick skull. Execution was not something to be brushed over. It was suppose to be horrifying and he had seen man crying over lesser things. 

"I take it that governor Swann will be leaving soon?" 

"Yes." Norrington replied gruffly, still annoyed. 

"With Miss. Elizabeth?" 

He tensed. Ezekiel had scooted away from the wall and was watching him carefully. 

"I am not aware of her decision." 

He really didn't want to think about Elizabeth right now. .....and why was Ezekiel worrying about her? 

"What is it to you? And even if I do know, I am under no obligation to tell you anything...... pirate!" He added on a second thought, emphasizing his point. 

Ezekiel stared, unfazed and asked softly, "then why are you here?" 

"I...." He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. 

Ezekiel tipped his head back further, arms crossing behind his head. Suddenly angry with himself, Norrington turned to leave. 

A few loud clatters, then followed by a hard tug at his left hand. He swirled around. Ezekiel had crossed from the other side of the cell, and was now inspecting the white bandages around his wrist attentively. Norrington stared down on the mop of red hair, mesmerized by the oddly gentle gesture and a little stunned by the warmth radiated from the body before him. 

A moment of silence passed. He waited for pain or.... something. None came. He relaxed; he didn't have the key on him, or any weapons that could be used against him. 

As stealthily as it was captured, his arm was released. He pulled his hand back toward his chest as if burnt. 

They regarded each other wordlessly for a moment, before the boy turned and walked back to his usual spot. With a dramatic sigh, Ezekiel slumped down on the ground and closed his eyes. 

He peered at the other under the brim of his hat for a few more seconds, then silently left the room. 

____________________________________________________________________________________________ 

Me: You are still stuck in this cell? This is getting pathetic. 

Zeke: Silent, you insect! I am a demon, not some kind of master in escaping. 

Me: Then do your thing, suck the guard's soul or something. 

Zeke: *thinking* The guards don't come in here other than bring in food, which by the way, sucked. They never make eye contact, much less talk. *clapping happily* They are afraid of me! 

Me: *rolls eyes* Err.... the dog? 

Zeke: I am not that desperate. 

@__@ 

Note: I use Ezekiel instead of Zeke because it was in Norrington's POV, and we can't have them being too informal. : ) 


	3. chapter 2

**Castle of Sand - 2 **

All previous disclaimers and warnings still applied. 

**A/N:** I'm still alive and I am not abandoning this story. Not betaed(too lazy), all mistakes are my own (and there are a lot), read at your own caution. 

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_-Curaco-_

They found an old cart in one corner of the room. Its wheels were cracked and slightly ajar, but thankfully they were still in working order. They hailed the coffin, which hopefully weight the same as its monetary value, on top of the cart with moderate effort and covered it with the dusty window curtains 

Will had murmured disgruntly through out the process, expressing his displeasure with pointy looks and guttural groans all the way to the door of the warehouse. The former, Jack repaid with his own half-lidded looks, completed with fluttering lashes in wordless dalliance. The latter, however, proved to be most distracting, especially when they were straightened by the combined power of pouting lips and subtle rippling of muscles. 

"Jack! Pay attention!" Will kicked him non-too-gently. 

He snapped out of his trance, and blinked at the other innocently. It wasn't his fault. Will was the one looking all ruffled and edible after all that heavy lifting. The small patch of skin just above the boy's collar bone was very inviting when it was brushed with such pretty shade of pink. And Will was still panting softly, Jack was beginning to think that it was deliberated. 

"Jack." 

His name was uttered a little more forceful this time, with the smallest hint of exasperation. Will was watching him with a somewhat weary expression. 

"Jack...." Will asked almost hesitantly, "why are you.... why are we doing this?" 

He opened his mouth, an excuse already on the tip of his tongue. 

"Jack." It was almost a warning. And Will was looking at him in a serious, no none sense kind of way. 

Jack didn't like that expression. He didn't want Will to frown and look like Bootstrap Bill. He wanted Will to smile and look like Will. 

Will mistook Jack's silence as refusal, shrugged as if convincing himself that it didn't matter and hastily turned his face away. But not fast enough before Jack could see the hurt reflected in those deep brown eyes. 

He felt a sharp tug inside his chest. He didn't want to lie to Will. It was not distrust that made him withhold his past from Will. 

It was, in all honesty, fear. 

His life on Isle de Aves was irreversibly gone and his nemesis dead. He had thought that was enough, enough for him to let go and rest the ghosts of his past. He had wanted to start anew with Will beside him, to finally regain some happiness. 

But the past, it would seem, did not want to let him go. 

He thought back to the mark on the envelop. He had seen it often in his youth. It was _her _mark. The mark of a Seer. 

But she's dead. And why..... after all this time.

He knew he had been acting distracted and Will had noticed. He had stalled and Will had noticed that also. He could continue with his evasive tactics and Will would continue to notice and angst. It wouldn't be fair to Will and it would undoubtedly put unnecessary strain on their relationship. And when it really came down to it, the fear of losing Will outweighed everything else. 

And so Jack decided, however unwillingly, that now was as good a time as any. Even though this was certainly not the best place, and the direct approach was not without variables, Jack supposed that every confession had to have a beginning. 

He steeled his resolve and opened his mouth again. 

A small noise caught both their attentions. They turned slightly. The first ray of sunrise pierced through the cracks in the wooden door, like sharp needles until they were blocked by a tall figure in grey robe. 

Simultaneously, Jack and Will let go of the cart and drew out their respective weapons. Neither of them had heard the man came in and had no idea how long the intruder had been there. The man moved forward, silent as a ghost. Jack's hand tightened on the handle of his pistol, finger rested rigidly on the trigger. 

The figure stopped a short distance away. The grey robe shifted as a gloved hand emerged from beneath the dense layers of fabric. Blue sparks danced on the tip of the leather covered fingers. 

Jack's eyes widened. His head jerked around and met Will's eyes for one brief moment. The next second, they jumped apart and dodged in opposite directions just as a surge of lightening was sent their way. 

------------------------ 

Will was getting angry. He didn't relinquish being chased around like some lowly, common criminal. His brain, in its usual untimely fashion, pointed out that pirates were indeed considered as lowly criminals, but Will could most assuredly take comfort in the knowledge that his pursuer was anything but common. Will mentally gave his brain the death glare before leaned against a fruit stand and huffed tiredly, busy supplying the oxygen desperately needed by his body. 

It was already late morning and the streets were getting crowded. He and Jack had hoped to lose whoever it was in the chaotic maze otherwise known as the Curaco residential district. They had almost succeeded only to turn and find the shadowy figure a few steps behind, tailing them in a steady pace, like a predator patiently stalking its prey. So in a rather pathetic showing of decision making skills, they had changed their tactics and dove into the massive market place. 

And now, they themselves were quite lost. 

He tilted his head towards Jack, and was pleased to notice, in a sadistic sort of way, that he was not the only one out of breath. "You wouldn't happen to have any ideas as to why he's after us.... other than the obvious one." 

Jack blinked innocently, "errr.... no?" 

Will rubbed the bridge of his nose. "We've left the coffin in the warehouse, so why is he still chasing us? He didn't look like a smuggler, and I am sure those doesn't shoot lightening out of their hands." 

Jack muttered something about judging a book by its cover and Will pointedly ignored him. "Are you sure you don't recognize him? You hadn't been borrowing money from weird people, or groping any innocent girl with an angry father, or-" 

Jack cut in before he could finish, "it's not my fault that I always attract the most unsavory characters." 

"Of course it's your fault. Birds of a feather flock together." was Will's response. 

To which, Jack countered with a stilted gasp, "such... needless cruelty." 

"Well, you are the one who dragged us into this." Will reasoned. 

"But it is a gold coffin." Jack put extra emphasis on the word 'gold' and winked at Will impishly. 

Will sighed for the hundredth time and let the silly argument drop. "Whatever you say." He looked around them, "which way do we go?" 

"That way." Jack motioned with his hand. Upon Will's apprehensive expression, he offered a small grin, "the air smelt of sea that way." 

The crowd was thinning after the morning rush and Will realized that lingering would only expose them faster. He felt Jack's hand wrapped around his own and answered it with a soft squeeze. 

He turned and was almost tripped over when someone roughly bumped into him. Jack tensed beside him and his hand went up immediately to fend off his assaulter.... only he couldn't. 

In his arms was a sniveling mass of grey. 

He took a step backward and tried to loosen his arms, but the.... person in his arms only followed him and continued to cling desperately at him. Faintly he heard the sound of crying. Will coughed self-consciously and spared a glance at Jack, who was absorbing the scene in front of him with an unreadable expression. 

Will looked down and met a tear-streaked face. Through the masses of dirty tangling rugs and hair, he could make out a face. The face was unfamiliar to him, but it was young even though the hair surrounded it was an ashen white. 

He studied the face harder. A girl obviously.... no more than a teenager. White hair, heart shaped face, golden eyes...... 

Wait. 

Golden eyes. 

Then realization hit him. 

"T-Tisha!" 

Tisha sobbed harder at his recognition and burrowed her face into his chest. Instinctively, his arms tightened and held her more firmly. 

He didn't catch the wince on Jack's face. 

_---------------------------------------------_

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_-Port Royal-_

The little dog had trotted over to the other side of the bars as soon as the commodore left. It was sitting motionlessly as always and watching him with big brown eyes. Apparently, the mascot of the Port Royal dungeon had become quite fond of him and Zeke had to suffer most of his waking hours in its company.   
  
It was fluffy and cute, so naturally he hated it.   
  
He hissed at it, deliberately showing his fangs. The dog stayed, keys dangled from its half opened mouth. He reckoned that if he moved fast enough, he could probably snatch the keys away before the dog could react.   
  
He didn't want to. He didn't want to move at all.  
  
Zeke was drowsy, strangely tired even though he hadn't moved from the same spot for quite some time. He also smelled. Normally it wouldn't have bothered him much. Being a pirate tended to drive out most of one's good hygiene habits. Fresh water was rare, reserved for drinking and not bathing every high noon. He was used to constantly having a layer of dirt covering his body by now.   
  
It wasn't the prison cell neither. Although he had to admit that he was somewhat surprised by the over-all reception. The commodore must really despised him, and that, for some unfathomable reasons, made he feel a little.... choked.   
  
He shook his head slightly. Wisps of red hair wiped around lifelessly, weighted down by dust and grease. He ran one hand through the entangled mess in an effort to comb through them, and peeked at the dog from the corner of his eyes. It was trying to get closer, pressing its wet nose between the bars and barked a few times.   
  
He rolled his eyes, "go away."   
  
The dog barked some more, taking his brisk instruction as encouragement. Its tongue hanged out, and the ring with the keys dropped onto the ground with a soft click.   
  
He eyed them suspiciously for a few seconds, before swapped his hand impatiently against the air in front of him. The chains jerked soundly with each movement.  
  
"Go away.... before I cook you in a stew."  
  
The dog ignored the dawning threat in his voice, instead wriggled its tail excitedly, putting both of its front paws against the bars, then bent down and nudged the keys toward him with its nose. He closed his eyes, trying to filter out the distracting moaning and panting of the annoying animal.   
  
He was not mellowing in self-pity, he told himself stubbornly. He was not. 

He was.... regrouping. Yeah, that was what he was doing. The uncertainty of his situation was excruciatingly perpetual, and he was simply feeling.... lost.  
  
He knew that he didn't want to go home. He wasn't concerned about the awaiting punishment, he had grown quite immune to them a long time ago. After all, practice made perfect. But his future in the human world was looking rather bleak, and soon to be over as confirmed by the commodore's visit.   
  
The only thing was that he wanted to stay. 

No. That wasn't right. 

Something..... something was keeping him here, not in a physical sense, but in a obscure way that bind him and prevented him from moving on.   
  
Something he missed.   
  
Of course, Zeke was always missing things, but this was different. It was important, like a crucial piece of the puzzle, something that he had to find, something that would give him the completion and emancipation he needed.   
  
A score to settle perhaps?   
  
But with whom?   
  
Or what?   
  
It couldn't be about Jack, Zeke had wholeheartedly given up on ever stealing Jack's soul. Besides Jack wasn't too upset about his deception, not to mention he saved Will, which seemed to had placated the pirate captain well enough. And he hadn't made that many enemies during his stay on the mortal plane, not anyone that was still alive anyway.   
  
Unless..... he counted Norrington.  
  
Commodore Norrington, the object of his current frustration.   
  
He could tell that the commodore was troubled as well. He had felt the small tingling of irritation as soon as the other stepped through the door.   
  
What's wrong with him? I thought he would have looked happier, with me about to get intimately acquainted with the gallows and all that.  
  
It had been over two months since he was dumped into this stinking cell, and he was still no way near figuring out the reason for Norrington's continued survival. At first, he had foolishly reasoned with himself by explaining that the dagger's magic was delayed. As for why, he didn't know. He assumed it had something to do with luck, which seemed to had been distributed rather generously among a disturbingly large number of people he encountered. But whatever the reason was, he thought that if he only had patience and waited a bit longer, the commodore would eventually die and he would be.... satisfied. However, with their every protracted meeting, Norrington was looking better and healthier. It was as if his presence did not aggravate the wounds, but instead was having the exact opposite effect.   
  
Zeke was ready to pull his hair out.   
  
Furthermore, the lack of progress was accentuating his burgeoning sense of failure. Nothing had gone according to plan, and ever since he stepped aboard the Black Pearl, he had taken a straight nose dive down the self-confidence scale.   
  
Why can't I do anything right?  
  
He had been nothing but demure and conscientious in his duty as a destroyer of all that was good and righteous. Granted, he was never very good at what he did, but it wasn't all his fault. Bad luck, or some sort of creepy divine intervention had followed him everywhere and kept on ruining everything.   
  
But still more quailing was the thought that even his weapon, his own trusted creation could let him down.  
  
Everything Zeke made had some kind of magical properties. It was a natural talent of his and provided him with a advantageous edge in most situations. Weapons were one of his specialties, but not everything he made were destructive. The effects varied depending on their intended purposes.   
  
But now he had managed to mess up the only thing that he was actually good at. It was like losing an important part of himself, a part which had always defined him, anchored him and assured him that he wasn't completely useless.   
  
The recent turn of event had made him doubt his creation, his ability and even worse, himself.   
  
The only other time, or rather, person, who was able to do that, was Ramirez. And he did NOT want to recall what happened with Ramirez.   
  
He buried his face between his folded arms. The air was saturated with almost retching depression, borderlining on paranoia. Zeke felt trapped, the walls enclosed around him like a penitentiary. Grudgingly, he raised his face toward the ceiling.   
  
Then something cold and hard hit him square on the forehead.   
  
His head reeled back instinctively, and connected with the wall behind him with a loud thud. An involuntary croak escaped his lips before he clamped them shut. With jaws clenched and teeth gritted tightly, his body trembled in a spastic state of pain.   
  
A dry voice half laughed and half announced, "well, that got your attention." 

His head snapped up, a curse half way out of his mouth, and eyes roaming the room in search of his attacker. Stood on the other side of the bars, behind the little dog, was a young man. 

The keys cluttered noisily, fell into Zeke's lap and then onto the ground. His eyes narrowed, one hand rubbing the bruise which would no doubt be forming, and with the other hand, he gingerly pushed himself off the ground. 

In a soft and polite tone, the man greeted, "Ezekiel, I presume." 

Zeke scowled darkly. His hands darted out between the bars, intending serious bodily harm.....only to went right _through_ said body. 

Pain swept over his arms as sudden as a violent tempest. He gasped, extracted his arms and fell rather gracelessly on his behind. His arms hurt. He looked down; there were burn marks trailing from the tips of his fingers to the end of his elbows. 

Magic. He realized shakily. White magic. 

The man smiled, "you are as brash as rumored." 

His back stiffened, the peals of shock was being drowned by the thundering of his own heart. 

The other calmly continued, "I have a proposition for you." 

With a few deep breaths, Zeke managed to collect himself and focused the heat of his glare on the stranger. 

"Who the hell are you!?" He demanded. 

"Ray," the man's smile widened, "my name is Ray." 

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Just for laughs - what would happen if Zeke went to Hogwart? 

**SortingHat:** Hmmm....let's see. I don't think you have the brain power to be in Ravenclaws and your very nature pretty much goes against every Gryffindor value there is. But you are certainly hardworking....Hufflepuff perhaps? 

**Zeke: **WHAT?! How dare you! I demand to be put in Slytherian! 

**SortingHat:** Sorry, dear. You are hardly Slytherian material. 

**Zeke:** What the hell is that suppose to mean?! I'll make you eat those words. You WILL sort me into Slytherian or I'll KILL you! 

**SortingHat:** ......I'm a hat. 

**Zeke:** ......DAMNIT! 

**SortingHat:** I think I've proven my point.


End file.
